


and it's dark in a cold december (but i've got you to keep me warm)

by daisylincs



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Mission Fic, Secret Santa Fic, Set between Seasons 3 and 4, Stressful Missions, Tender Ending, being there for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28416294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylincs/pseuds/daisylincs
Summary: Fitz turned to look at Jemma, and found her already waiting to catch his gaze. He raised his eyebrows the slightest bit, and she shook her head, small and grim.This whole mission was a hell of a lot to ask - but they didn't have much of a choice, did they? They would do it.At least they would be together.(Or, Fitz and Jemma have a stressful mission on Christmas Eve - but together, they can get through anything.)
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	and it's dark in a cold december (but i've got you to keep me warm)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fitzsimmonkeys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzsimmonkeys/gifts).



> roses are red // Fitz's eyes are blue // my dear Secret Santa // a very merry Christmas to you!!
> 
> HELLOOOOO, love, and the biggest of "Happy holidays!!" to my wonderful Fitzsimmons Secret Santa! You've been just the most amazing giftee, with a FANTASTIC prompt and honestly the best responses to my quizzing about our beloved duo - responses that made me just think "y e s" and "that's exactly how I feel!!" 
> 
> Also, you picked hurt/comfort, which is just, AHHHH, a whole new level of amazing. I'm usually very much a fluff girl, but there's just something so incredibly SPECIAL about hurt/comfort, especially when it's for a duo who understand and LOVE each other as much as Fitzsimmons do!! So, thank you VERY much for giving me the chance to explore that avenue a little 💜
> 
> Setting-wise, this takes place between seasons 3 and 4 - but there isn't much contextual knowledge of that actually required, as the main focus here is, well, _Fitzsimmons._ And how absolutely incredible they are together!! Just, _goals,_ really. 
> 
> In short: I'm so glad I did decide to sign up for the Fitzsimmons Secret Santa, because everything about it has been utterly wonderful, and I've pretty much had the time of my life! So I really, really hope you enjoy my contribution to this amazing challenge, dear 🥰 
> 
> And then, of course - MERRY CHRISTMAS, ALL!!! Even if it _is_ a hurt/comfort-y one (*coughs in 2020*) I still sincerely, sincerely hope that everyone has a GREAT holiday season 💜💜💜🎄🎄

Fitz's heart was heavy as he walked to his and Jemma's shared room on the base, knocking a few times to spell out _I love you_ in Morse Code so she knew it was him. Then he pushed open the door. 

Jemma had already turned around to greet him, her smile bright and full of cheerful excitement. One of his T-shirts was draped over her arm, and a suitcase which she was evidently in the process of packing lay open on the bed behind her. 

Fitz felt something lodge in his throat when he saw how _happy_ she looked, how eager for this break and the chance to see England - and both of their families - in person again. 

He swallowed hard, not moving from his position standing in the doorway, and wondering how the _bloody hell_ he was supposed to give her this news. 

In true Jemma fashion, though, she noticed something was wrong well before he even opened his mouth. Putting down his shirt, she crossed the room to cup his cheek gently in her hand, looking up at him with concerned brown eyes. "Fitz? What's the matter?" 

He reached up and covered her hand with his, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch for a moment. 

When he opened his eyes again, Jemma was still watching him with that worried look in her eyes, a small crease on her brow. _"Fitz,"_ she prompted gently - not pushing him to tell her if he didn't want to, at all, but rather letting him know she was there to hear it. 

He blew out a long breath, squeezing her hand before admitting, "I have bad news." 

Jemma's eyes widened, and he could practically see her scientist's mind start to work, running through all the possibilities. "What is it?" she asked, no hint of a cheerful smile visible now. "Is Daisy -" 

"No," he interrupted, giving her hand another, firmer squeeze. "Still nothing, I'm afraid. And no new mentions of _Quake_ in the papers." 

She closed her eyes, nodding slowly, then once again, faster - and, though she wasn't saying it, he could see how much she was hurting. Daisy had been - still was, really, even if she _was_ currently taking down banks - Jemma's best friend, and her absence had hit hard. 

He brushed his thumb soothingly across the back of her hand, doing his best to convey something like, _I'm here for you._

Because, no, he couldn't promise that they would find Daisy, or that she'd come back someday, or even just that she was _okay._

But he could be there for Jemma, now and forevermore, for _whatever_ she needed. 

Jemma squeezed his hand back, just once, but it was enough to tell him that she had understood his message, and appreciated it. 

When she opened her eyes again, though, she was fully in Agent Simmons mode, detached and businesslike. "What is it then?" she asked briskly. 

Doing his best to adopt the same attitude, he replied matter-of-factly, "The Director has a mission for us in two days." 

She started to nod, but then she processed what the dates meant. She gave her head a small shake, but then caught herself, saying in a deliberately calm tone, "but that's Christmas Eve, Fitz." 

He squeezed his eyes shut. "I know." 

What he didn't say was - _I know we were planning to be in England then; I know we were planning to visit your parents, and then my mum._

She didn't say it either, but he heard it in the soft, sharp breath she blew out. 

"Well," she said, trying valiantly for a smile, "I haven't packed much yet, it won't be too hard to get everything back in its place." 

There was no disguising the bitter disappointment in her voice, though, and Fitz felt his heart give a twinge. 

"Hey," he murmured, pulling her close when she had moved to step away and resting his forehead against hers. 

She released another long, slow breath, closing her eyes and just _feeling_ with him for a minute. 

This was a cutting disappointment to them both; especially when things had been so… hard at SHIELD, lately. They had both been desperately looking forward to these two weeks and the _hope_ of them, and now, well… 

Jemma was the first to pull away, reluctantly, squeezing Fitz's hand and catching his gaze as soon as he opened his eyes. "I suppose the Director wants to brief us?" she asked, a hint of coolness creeping into her tone. 

Fitz smiled wryly. "You bet." 

She shook her head, and he thought she looked more tired than anything else. "Come on, then," she said, starting to lead him gently but firmly to the door. "We'll go together." 

They didn't speak much as they walked down the Playground corridors to the Director's office - but then again, they didn't need to. Having each other there was more than enough. 

And Director Mace, to his credit, kept their briefing short and to the point. 

"There's a charity gala being held at Oliver Tan's mansion on Christmas Eve," he began, nodding at Agent Burrows to pull up the correct slideshow, which the man promptly did. 

"However," he continued, "we've received intel that there will also be a large-scale black market weapons sale between this man -" a picture of a shifty-looking bloke with reddish-brown hair popped up on screen - "and this one." The next man was nearly twice as big and, even through the crappy-quality mugshot, looked like a genuinely mean, thuggish specimen. 

"Zachary Finn and Alec Greer," Mace said, pointing at the relevant figure. "Greer is the big, nasty-looking one, and the one you've got to watch out for. He's been sent in by what we believe is the last of Gideon Malick's cell." 

Fitz and Jemma inhaled sharply at the same time. Mace nodded grimly. 

"He'll be selling the weapon to Finn, but our intelligence warns that if he doesn't get to make the trade, or if he thinks something is off, he'll detonate the weapon right there." 

In a surprisingly even voice, Jemma asked, "What kind of weapon are we talking about, sir?" 

"We believe it's nuclear," Mace said grimly. "Capable of taking out an entire building of people, no doubt." 

"More, probably," Agent Burrows piped up helpfully. "We estimate that it would decimate the entire city." 

Mace nodded, his gaze serious as he looked at them. "Indeed. We're going to need the two of you to disable it. And in order to do that, you have to neutralise Finn and take his place, pretending to be lackeys of the big boss, Baltan." 

He put down a stack of files he had been holding, taking a step closer towards them. "I can't stress the importance of being discreet enough," he said. "If Greer suspects something is even the slightest bit fishy, he will kill all those people, you included, without hesitation." 

"What you need to do is persuade him everything is as it should be, then get close enough to distract him and disable the bombs." He paused for breath, looking seriously at them both. "Clear?" 

Fitz turned to look at Jemma, and found her already waiting to catch his gaze. 

He raised his eyebrows the slightest bit, and she shook her head, small and grim. 

This whole mission was a hell of a lot to ask - but they didn't have much of a choice, did they? They would do it. 

At least they would be together. 

Slowly, grimly, Fitz and Jemma nodded, in perfect sync. 

Mace nodded too, snapping his fingers at Burrows to switch off the presentation. "Good, then," he said. "Full files will be sent to your pads shortly." 

Even _he_ seemed to realise that reminding the two of them to trust each other was an exercise in ridiculousness, and, since nothing more was said, they turned together to go. 

Mace's voice stopped them at the door, though. 

"Agent Fitz, Agent Simmons," he said, and his voice was surprisingly sympathetic. "I know that you're giving up your own holidays to take this mission, and I need you to know that I'm not asking you to do that lightly. This is the kind of mission I'd normally ask Coulson to take, him and Mack, but -" 

"They're looking for Daisy," Jemma interrupted. "And that's a priority. We're not shifting them out." 

Mace nodded, but his gaze was troubled. 

"Will that be all, sir?" Fitz asked, the first thing he had said throughout this meeting, his tone biting. Jemma elbowed him. 

Mace, however, didn't seem offended - just nodded at them both again. "Thank you," he said, with a surprising sincerity in his tone. 

Neither Fitz nor Jemma replied, least of all with a _you're welcome_ \- but they did nod again, in sync as always, and grim, but determined. 

This wasn't a mission that they wanted to take, or a mission that they would enjoy. 

But it needed to be done, and so they would do it together - and do it damn well. 

//

Christmas Eve arrived much faster than Fitz had been bargaining on, and, before he knew it, he and Jemma were in the Hotel Noir, preparing the final field kits for _the mission._

He glanced down at the mess of tangled wires, switches, buttons and remotes, chewing his lip as he tried to sort them into some kind of logical order. 

_Red, blue, green, cut. Blue, green, black, green, twist. Red, red, cut. Blue, green, black -_

He massaged his temples as he felt a sudden headache forming there, willing himself to concentrate. This wasn't playing around in the lab; this was life or death. 

_Red, blue, green, cut. Blue, green, black, green, twist. Red, red, cut. Black -_

No, no, it had been _blue_ after cutting the red, hadn't it, surely? 

_Concentrate._

Pressing his fingers a little harder against his temples, he tried again - 

_Red, blue, green, cut. Blue, red, black…_

No, that was already wrong - it was the _green_ that needed to be twisted, not the black, not the black at all!

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he think straight, and do this _right?_ The last time he had had this much trouble with wiring was when he had had to use Hunter’s hands to fix the Bus…

His heart twinged, an extra heavy weight settling in his chest. _Hunter._

Another friend he had lost.

Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he clenched his fists, willing himself not to focus on that, and to give all his attention to visualising what he needed to do with the wires, the _right sequence_ this time.

_Red, blue, green, cut. Blue, green, black..._

He couldn’t do it. 

He tried to sketch out the correct movements in the air, but his hands were shaking too much to form the shapes.

_So much loss._

He had already lost so many friends, and if he didn’t execute this all _perfectly_ tonight, he would lose the best friend of all - his partner, his soulmate, his _person._

_Jemma._

He knew without any doubt that if he lost Jemma, he would lose himself, too.

And unless he sorted this sequence out _right now,_ he _would_ lose her tonight, lose her forever -

HIs hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t make out anything coherent, let alone a complex sequence of wirings, and his vision blurred in and out, everything around him fuzzy and indistinct.

He had been looking forward to this break for so long, _needing_ it, if he was honest, and now… He needed to cobble together a miracle of wiring and detonators, with hands that kept shaking and jerking no matter how hard he tried to keep them still. He _couldn’t_ keep them still, there was just so much pressure, and no time, and the potential for so much loss, _loss loss loss_ , loss that would be on _him -_

“Fitz,” came a new voice, calm and clear, cutting through his downward spiral like a ray of brilliant sunlight through a grey and despairing fog. 

He latched onto it like a lifeline, his shaking hands reaching blindly for her until she found them, holding both his hands in her own, and squeezing tightly - not _too_ tightly, just tightly enough to let him know she was there.

“It’s going to be okay, Fitz,” she said softly after a long, long moment of just holding him.

He pulled his hands away, running them through his hair and feeling the choking panic rise up in him again. “Yeah, but what if it _isn’t?”_ he asked, gesturing helplessly down at the twisted mess of wires on the coffee table in front of him. “What if I mess this up, and I fail us, fail _you,_ and -” 

He couldn’t even finish the thought, but Jemma, being Jemma, understood regardless. 

“That’s _not_ going to happen,” she said firmly. 

He threw up his hands half-despairingly. “Yeah, but you don’t know that, do you?” 

“You’re right,” she agreed, stepping closer towards him and taking his hands in hers again. “I don’t know. Not for sure, anyway. But I _believe_ in you, Fitz.” 

She squeezed his hands, meeting and holding his gaze with serious brown eyes. “I believe in you because… helping people is what you _do._ No matter how hard it is, or how much you might struggle, you _always_ help people.” 

“You care so _much_ , Fitz,” she said, and her eyes were full of more tenderness than he could put a measure to. “It’s who you _are,_ and it’s one of the most beautiful, most genuinely _good_ things I’ve ever seen. It’s why I fell in love with you, and it’s also why I _know_ you’re going to succeed tonight.” 

She tipped her head a from side to side, eyes sparkling with just a hint of mischief and lips tugging up in a wry grin as she added, “That, and the tiny little fact that you’re a genius.” 

Fitz couldn’t help a small laugh at that, and, smiling encouragingly, she squeezed his hands again.

He squeezed back, with, he couldn’t help noticing, hands that had stopped shaking completely.

“Thank you, Jemma,” he said, glancing up from their joined hands to meet her gaze sincerely. 

She dipped her head, smiling up at him, full of softness and warmth and complete, utter _caring_. “Always,” she promised.

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and drawing in a long, deep breath. _In, out._

And he thought -

_Red, blue, green, cut. Blue, green, black, green, twist. Red, red, cut. Blue, green, black, red, loop. Green, red, blue, yellow, tie off._

He opened his eyes, and found Jemma squinting up at him, her expression a little wry, but still full of that impossibly soft, tender warmth. “You ready to go knock this mission right out of the ballpark?”

He looked down at her, feeling his heart fill with that exact same feeling. “Absolutely.” 

//

At exactly half past seven that evening, Zachary Finn was supposed to arrive at Oliver Tan’s mansion - so, at exactly half past seven, Fitz and Jemma were waiting in the big lift up to the main banquet hall.

They were both dressed a little more formally than they were used to - Fitz in a suit and tie, and Jemma in a silky dress and matching shawl - and, while they waited, Fitz couldn’t help but think back to the last time they had dressed up together. _That_ night had gone very well.

Hopefully that meant _this_ night would, too.

And, as Zachary Finn stepped into the lift exactly when he was supposed to, it certainly looked like it might.

“Good evening,” Jemma greeted brightly, shooting the man her signature warm, welcoming smile. “Are you excited for the party?” 

And, before he had so much as opened his mouth to reply, she opened her purse and whipped out an ICER, shooting him square in the chest. He crumpled instantly into a little heap against the far wall of the lift.

“Bit of a shame, really,” Jemma said, tucking the ICER back into her purse and eyeing the man. “That’s quite a nice suit.” 

“Not as nice as mine,” Fitz threw over his shoulder, deftly attaching one of his newer devices to the little panel by the lift’s door. It whizzed to life, flashing orange for a second or so as it synced with the lift’s controls, then went bright blue.

They had complete control of the lift’s direction now.

 _“Definitely_ not as nice as your suit,” Jemma agreed, waiting until he had finished programming the device to take them up to the abandoned top floor before catching his eye and throwing him a wink.

He grinned, feeling unusually happy given that they had, you know, an unconscious man in a heap in the lift with them. And, you know, the tiny problem of a bomb that could blow up this entire building.

Little things, right? 

But for now, they shared a grin, and the silent but _very_ clear promise that there would be more on that subject later.

For now, though - mission-focused it was.

The lift, by Fitz’s directive, took them all the way up to the top floor, giving a pleasant little _ding_ to let them know they had arrived. Fitz stood forward before opening the doors, making sure the unconscious Finn was completely hidden behind his back on the _off_ chance that there was someone there.

There wasn’t, though - just the large, convenient storage closet that they had located on the mansion’s blueprints earlier that night.

With the two of them working together, it was the work of just a few moments to haul Finn into said closet, propping him up with two mops before closing the door and locking it tightly.

Then it was back into the lift, and down into the party proper.

Her arm looped through Fitz’s, and her signature smile on her face, Jemma looked right at home in this fancy party - and not at all, he thought, like her glasses were scanning every face she passed to search for a match for Greer.

When they found their target, Fitz’s watch gave a soft beep, a small red pulse in the hour hand leading them in the direction of the large, open bar.

Greer was hulking on one side of it, nursing a glass of beer and looking about ready to rip the heads off anyone who approached him. Unsurprisingly, he was surrounded by a large circle of open chairs.

Fitz and Jemma, however, approached him directly.

“Mr Greer,” Fitz said in his best American accent, holding out his hand for the other man to shake.

Greer didn’t take it, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Who’re you?” 

“Right,” Jemma said with a practiced smile, jumping in with their pre-prepared cover story. “We’re Jane and Lucas Floreson, and we’re here on behalf of Jake Baltan.” 

Greer’s eyes narrowed further, and his hand inched towards his pocket, where, Fitz could only assume, he was keeping the trigger to his bomb. “I was told I’d be meeting Zachary Finn,” he said, enunciating each word very clearly, and dangerously.

Warning bells rung in Fitz’s head, but he stuck rigorously to the prepared script. “And you would have,” he said coolly, holding the other man’s gaze as unflinchingly as he could. Greer might look like he could kill him with one hand, but Fitz had something he never would - a _Jemma._

Suitably emboldened by this thought, he pressed on, “There was an… incident. Insubordination.”

Jemma adjusted her glasses, giving a cold smile that was in _total_ contrast to the way she normally radiated warmth and caring. “It’s been dealt with.” 

“I see,” Greer said, nodding but not moving his hand away from his pocket. “I’ll need to see your identification, of course.” 

“Naturally,” Fitz said, clipped and cool. “And we, of course, will need to see yours.” 

Greer’s eyes blazed. “You _dare_ question me?” 

His hand moved dangerously close to the edge of his pocket, his fingers curling and uncurling in a slow, infinitely threatening grip.

Despite the alarm bells ringing doubly loudly in his head now, Fitz stood his ground. “We’re not questioning you,” he said calmly. “We do, however, need to check the weaponry. Mr Baltan is a busy man, and we would _hate_ to disappoint him, especially for such a… special price.” 

Beside him, Jemma reached into her purse, pulling out a small velvet bag and pouring its contents out onto her hand. They sparkled in her palm, white and pure and, for all intents and purposes, utterly perfect. 

Unknown to Greer, these weren’t diamonds at all, but rather silicon oxide alloys grown specifically in the SHIELD lab - but, except to the eyes of a double-PhD scientist, they’d look like the real thing. A _better_ version of the real thing, too - remarkably clear and sharp and _dazzlingly_ bright.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Jemma asked dreamily, letting the little stones run through her fingers.

Greer swallowed, all his attention riveted on her now. “Beautiful,” he agreed hoarsely. 

His distraction allowed Fitz to pluck the briefcase from his hands, and, flipping it open, he inspected the contents intensively.

Greer knew he had it, of course, but as far as he knew, Fitz was just making sure it was all legitimate - and, anyway, his attention was fixed on the “diamonds” pouring through Jemma’s palms.

 _That’s one of the good things about silicon oxide,_ Fitz thought absently as he slowly slipped a tiny pair of pliers out of his cuff, reaching them into the briefcase and right into the bomb’s casing. _Twice as reflective as the real thing._

Slowly, so slowly that he could barely see his own movements, he prised the casing off the bomb, making sure to tilt the briefcase so that its open lid blocked what he was doing from Greer’s view. 

Then, with infinite care, he reached into the wiring itself, avoiding the ticking red timer at all costs.

Every part of him wanted to rush, to hurry, to twist and loop and cut the wires as fast as humanly possible - but he forced himself to wait, to draw it out and keep his movements as slow and minute as he possibly could.

If Greer saw anything, anything at _all,_ that shouldn’t be happening, he would blow them all into the sky.

And “them all” included Jemma.

So yeah, Fitz was going to be as slow and careful as _imaginable._

And he managed it, too - wiring the bomb in the exact right sequence to make it unusable, slow but steady, doing everything just right until all he needed to do was tie off the final yellow wire -

And that was when Greer looked up.

Professional that he was, he saw Fitz’s hands buried in the wiring immediately. _Murder_ flashed in his eyes and, before anyone could stop him, he plunged his hand into his pocket -

And then Jemma threw the whole pile of silicon oxide “diamonds” into his eyes. 

Greer roared and staggered back a step, his hands instinctively flying up to shield his face - which gave Fitz _just_ enough time to finish what he needed to do, tying off the yellow wire and tucking its end firmly into the live port.

And not a second too soon - recovering fast, Greer slammed his hand down on the button.

Instinctively, Fitz closed his eyes, bracing himself for a massive explosion… but it never came. A second passed, and another, and he was still breathing. 

Greer _roared,_ and for a second, the entire banquet hall was silent.

Then the big man grabbed the nearest plate of champagne glasses and _smashed_ them down, sending shards of glass flying in every direction.

For a single, teetering moment, like a water glass balanced on the very edge of its tipping point, there was utter silence.

Then the hall _erupted,_ people screaming and cursing and running en masse towards the exits, away from the raging giant.

Fitz grabbed Jemma’s hand and set off at a dead run, hugging the bomb close to him as he half-hauled them through the throngs of people - and it was only when they were back in his trusty jacked lift, clothes in total disarray and breaths stuttering badly, that he allowed himself to breathe properly again.

They had made it.

Dear God, they had _made_ it.

//

“Jemma, you were _amazing,”_ Fitz exclaimed as soon as they reached their suite in the Hotel Noir, cupping her face in his hands and leaning forward to kiss her fervently.

But halfway there, he stopped, immediately sensing that something was very wrong - Jemma’s eyes were closed tightly, and her breathing was still coming in shallow gasps.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his mood transitioning instantly from celebratory to concerned. Gripping her hand, he helped her slide down the wall and into a sitting position, crouching down next to her. 

“Hey, Jem,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It’s over. We did it.” 

_“This_ time,” she said, opening her eyes and looking up at him with an expression of utter anguish. “And it was so _close,_ Fitz, I almost lost you -” 

Shaking his head, he pulled her against him in a tight hug. “You _didn’t,”_ he said, and then repeated it, like a promise, “You didn’t.” 

_“This_ time,” she said again, burying her face in her shoulder. “But there will be more missions, and more close shaves, and, oh, _Fitz,_ what if we don’t make it then?” 

“We’ve already lost so many friends,” she said quietly into his shirt. “And when Greer was holding that trigger tonight, I saw it all again, I saw them _all -”_

She shook her head against his shoulder, tears streaming down her cheeks. “We’ve lost so much, Fitz,” she said quietly, and his heart _broke_ for how shattered she sounded. “And I just… I _can’t_ lose you, too.” 

And the thing was… he knew he couldn’t promise her that would never happen; not with this lifestyle they had.

But he could hold her close, and tightly, for as long as she needed.

“I’m sorry,” she said at some point, lifting her head from his shoulder and swiping at her tears. “Oh, look at your nice jacket, I’m so sorry -” 

“Don’t _ever_ apologise,” he interrupted, gently but firmly. “What do you think means more to me, Jem - you or the jacket?” 

She gave a short laugh, watery but real. “Well, when you put it like that…” 

“I know,” he said, bumping his shoulder very gently against hers. “But, Jemma, I really mean it - you don’t _ever_ have to apologise for any of this.” 

He took a deep breath. “Because the thing is, _yeah,_ what we do is completely crazy, and we can’t promise each other the future, not really.” 

She took a shuddery breath, nodding slowly.

He lifted their joined hands. “We might not be able to promise a secure future,” he repeated, “but as long as we’re together… you and I can face anything.” 

“Anything,” she echoed, looking down at their joined hands. 

And for a long moment, they just sat there, holding hands with their backs against the wall and the remains of a bomb spread out in front of them. 

But eventually, Jemma stirred, shifting to pull herself up into a standing position. 

She wasn’t _completely_ okay yet, he thought, not if the tiny creases in her forehead and crinkles around her eyes were any indication…

But it was _okay_ to not be okay, especially around each other. 

Because the two of them? They’d be there for each other, no matter _what._

“Together?” Jemma asked, holding out her free hand for him to take.

And he had never meant anything more as he said, _“Always.”_


End file.
